


Remember When I Made You Scream

by aimmyarrowshigh, spacesbetweenseconds



Category: One Direction (Band), Stereo Kicks (Band), X Factor (UK) RPF
Genre: Backstage, Casual Sex, M/M, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Women's Underwear, based on a tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2477759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesbetweenseconds/pseuds/spacesbetweenseconds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuing saga of backstage boy band crossover sex ft. Tom Mann.  Based on <a href="http://33.media.tumblr.com/1a8c433c773ba623738a6807d270a043/tumblr_ndmaxq1YcM1qhztfzo1_500.png">this tweet</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember When I Made You Scream

**Author's Note:**

> [12:32:57 AM] Molly: otherwise known as "How V Got Everyone To Like Things She Likes So Fic Gets Written"  
> [12:34:15 AM] V Arrow: hahahahahahahahahaa  
> [12:34:17 AM] V Arrow: well  
> [12:34:18 AM] V Arrow: ...yes

Everyone in the House is sick. Given that they're packed into the rooms like sardines, it isn't surprising that once Ben caught the flu, it started to spiral from contestant to contestant until the entire second floor smelt of Lemsip and stale bed sheets.

Barclay spent most of the week playing nursemaid to James, and that's fine. It meant that Tom didn't have to do it, anyway, although he did miss having Barclay by his side to help shepherd the littl'uns around before and after rehearsals.

They'd made noble attempts at figuring out the parts for Boys of Summer with everyone in different stages of burning up and surrounded by piles of crumpled tissues, and Tom was. Well. He still couldn't shake the feeling that the delegation in their performances felt more like doing a group song than it did doing a song with his band.

It's a good thing that they changed to this tune early in the week, though, because otherwise they would have been trying to practice with both James and Casey on voice-rest all along. Even though eight is a lot, they didn't really sound right without everyone.

That's a nice thought. It's a stressful one, since it's Friday now and Casey still can't quite see out of his gummed-up eyes and James is croaky, but it's nice all the same. Barclay will get James fixed up. Tom has faith.

Tom has more faith in Barclay than he really wants to admit to, in far too many situations. Ever since they'd had that little...rendezvous with their new pals from Union J, Tom can't help but notice his eyes more or less turning into little cartoon hearts when Barclay is around. Which is always.

Nearly, anyway. They haven't started going to single loos together. He supposes that's the last step before they fully morph into a real X Factor Boy Band. He's not entirely upset at the prospect.

He suspects that he isn't all that subtle about it, either. Betsy Blue has taken to giving him a wink exaggerated by all her false lashes whenever they're all in the same room.

She's onstage at the moment, though, with Parisa and Charlie and Mikey. Tom's own band are meant to be getting their wardrobe and haircuts finalized, but since there are only four chairs in the makeup room, they have to take it in shifts.

Tom bows out gracefully from the first shift, deciding that James and Casey needed the most help this week. Barclay and Chris take the other two seats, and if that means Tom gravitates to the side of Barclay's chair and tries not to make him laugh too hard with the close proximity of scissors, that's simply a coincidence.

There's a quick turnaround, at least for the seat he'd unknowingly claimed when he planted himself on the wall by Barclay, so the two of them switch positions. Their arms brush together in the shuffle of it all, and Tom feels heat rise in his cheeks. If anyone says something, he'll say it's blush. Or the flu.

Barclay clasps Tom's bicep as they swap places. "Time to get spray painted. I'll catch you for a cuppa after we're through."

"Yeah, definitely." The firmness of his grip, however brief, does something very funny to Tom's insides, so he smiles and spits out a joke to ease his mind. "Try not to get lost on your way back. James will miss you terribly."

Barclay's laugh as he made his way out the door was well worth it.

Tom wrinkles his nose at the thought of the spray booth; he'd forgotten the X Factor's long running joke that tan English people actually existed. He doesn't entirely hate how he looks after it's done and dry, but the spray is not wet enough to be a shower and yet far too wet to be comfortable. And then, of course, there was the whole stripping down bit.

"Shit," he mutters. "I've forgotten my dressing gown."

"You can use mine, darling," Chloe offers in her low, posh voice from the seat beside him. She doesn't even look over--he'd thought she was asleep as they bleached out her hair even whiter. "I have so many lovely others."

"Cheers," he says, because she's nice even if she is half mad. "Thanks, Chloe."

***

He's not sure what he was expecting, but certainly not this. Chloe's dressing gown is a proper silky number, something that looks like it belongs in a catalogue that someone would pull one off to before they discovered the internet. It feels nice when he runs the fabric between his fingers, but he's not so sure he can actually put it on.

Not that he has much of a choice, of course, and jewel green silk is better than running through the corridors completely starkers. God forbid anyone else in his band got an eyeful. He'd have a hard time forgiving himself.

Much less Cheryl FV. She's Cheryl, for pete's sake. Or _Simon_. Banish the thought.

So tiny green flip of lingerie it is. Better than naught, and the only people who will really see him are the makeup crew anyhow, and they have to see everyone's bits.

Of course, he might run into whoever's leaving the tanning tent, but that's just Barclay, and Barclay's already seen it all, and recently. He might even like this dressing gown on Tom, although that's maybe a bit kinky and they haven't talked about anything like that. There's just a lot of lace across the chestal area, is all. Bit see-through in the nips.

Although maybe Barclay's left. Tom might be running into Ben or Quickenden now, and Jake will take the piss. Ben might like it, though.

Given how much attention Ben gives Barclay, though, that might not really matter. Or maybe it'll be to Tom's advantage.

As he walks into the tanning tent, all of his thoughts creep back to what Josh had said in the cab, about how George goes off to find other people some nights. Tom was, at the time, a bit incredulous. But he'd just shrugged it off, saying, "George is pretty."

Barclay is pretty, although in a bit of a different way than George is. For that matter, Tom isn't completely devoid of good looks.

Even Simon had said that Tom is attractive.

In fact... that's all Simon said that Tom is. That he doesn't deserve to be here except for his looks getting people to like him.

Tom would like to think that isn't true, though, so he hopes that he doesn't run into Simon while wearing a bleeding satin-and-lace women's kimono.

All things considered, he doesn't look half bad in the get up, and he's sure he'll look even better once the tan's done. The satin does a lovely job of accenting his bum, and he's not mad about how nice it feels on his mostly bare skin. He'd prefer not to showcase all of that to the world but between him and the makeup crew, he's definitely pretty enough to pull.

Maybe Chloe won't even want this back. Not that Tom really needs lingerie, but the luxuries of life are about the wanting, not the needing, after all.

This is very short, though. If he weren't a grower, he'd be hanging out the bottom hem.

Speaking of growing, best not to think about pulling when he's this close to naked. Definitely best not to think about integrating Chloe's lingerie into his budding sex life in the the House.

Tom finally shuts himself in the tent with makeup artists and disrobes, feeling a bit cold and a lot exposed. He's already sort of missing the robe, and definitely not plotting how he can sneak it into his things without Chloe noticing as a way to distract himself. This crew have become shockingly good at treating his junk like it doesn't really exist, and he would really hate to give them a reason to notice it. As the airbrushed makeup hits his skin, though, he's pretty sure that won't be a problem. Maybe ever again.

He manages not to squeak at how cold the spray is, but it's a near miss. For some reason, they contour his abs to look more like -- well, Quickenden's -- even though he's going to be wearing a shirt for the entire show. Maybe it's a confidence thing.

He's pretty sure that they can sense his discomfort, because they manage to finish up making it look like he actually knows where to find a gym in what feels like record time. He's not sure why he feels eager to get the dressing gown back on, but if he lets out a sigh upon feeling the silk, no one says anything of it.

He ties the belt, thanks the makeup artists, and slips into his moccasins to shuffle off down the corridor again. Despite the breeze around his nethers, this might be the most comfortable he's ever felt.

Unfortunately, he doesn't quite know his way around all of the twists and turns below Fountain Studios yet. There are just so many corridors, and they all look the same. Except the spooky one George mentioned. He does know that one.

As much as he's loving this change in wardrobe, he's none too thrilled about getting lost on the way back to his clothes. The last thing he wants is to miss their performance, and with every turn it feels more and more like a distinct possibility.

It's only a rehearsal, but with two voices out and everyone else in the group a rabid chinchilla on caffeine pills...

Well. Tom would just as soon be there to keep the littl'uns from tumbling off the stage or accidentally electrocuting themselves or each other.

Tom is quite deep in thought, so much that he almost doesn't notice the fluffy headed ball of energy scampering in his general direction. He's positive that Union J aren't here, and maybe he's just seeing Georges in random places--not the worst thing to hallucinate, mind--but that looks far too short to be George anyhow. He only has enough time to look down and make sure everything is adequately covered before he looks up into the very blue eyes of one Louis Tomlinson.

"You're Tom, right?"

Tom squeezes his legs together as best he can. He doesn't this his arse is hanging out of the gown at the back, but he'd like to make sure.

"Um?" Tom knows he knew words at some point in his life, but he can't seem to grasp any of them. "I mean, yes. That's me."

"I thought so! I saw you last year. Other Louis was daft to send you home, I thought, but he does have a habit of that, doesn't he? Can't tell a good popstar if one bit him in the arse."

Tom raises his eyebrows at that. "Well, I'm hoping now that I'm back I can prove to Simon that I'm more than just a pretty face. I've also got marvelous painted on abs under this negligee."

The corners of Louis' eyes crinkle when he laughs. "I do miss getting my abs painted on every week. It's a lot more fun than giving up bread."

"That sounds horrible. Bread is up there with footie and guitar on my list of favorite things. I'd marry bread if it'd let me."

Tom cannot believe he's just said that. He'd marry bread? At this point he's positive that this conversation is unsalvageable, and he's mostly shooting for hoping that Louis doesn't slag him off or call him a knob on twitter. He'd quite like for One Direction fans to actually _like_ Stereo Kicks.

Louis just keeps smiling at him. It's really mesmerizing. Tom probably couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

"That's right, you're a footie coach, aren't you? What are your kids doing without you this year?"

"Oh, they're fine. I'm not that great." Tom shakes his head. "Maybe if I get far enough in the competition, I'll spring for a charter bus to bring them out here to see the show. They'd get a kick out of it."

Louis hesitates. "Was that a pun? Sorry, I'm just... I've spent a lot of time with Harry."

Tom can't help but laugh retroactively. "Oh god, I didn't even notice. Let's just say I meant it to be one so I can fool you into thinking I'm funny." 

"It's fine. I don't think Harry's funny, at any rate. Love him, poor sod, but his puns are about as good as tea with sugar in." Louis laughs like someone who's far more fond than he has any right to be, and it makes Tom wonder what the two of them are really like, after all this time. Louis is paying far more attention to Tom than he would if he wasn't flirting, and Tom stops to wonder if this is going somewhere. Would Harry mind?  
Before Tom can even open his mouth, Louis grins wickedly and tugs a bit at the tie of Tom's robe. "Don't look so nervous. He couldn't hurt a fly."

Tom's cheeks are burning up, looking down to check that Louis hasn't gotten too much of a peek at what's underneath. Unless that's what he wanted, which. Interesting development. "Am I the fly, in this scenario?"

"You are," Louis says. Tom has a moment of wild wondering whether Louis intends to swat him.

He doesn't think he'd mind.

"I don't mean to ask if boybanders are interchangeable but...do you often switch them out?" He's not entirely sure Louis will understand what he means, but he'd really rather not say the real question out loud.

"What, like socks? No. Not really. Not so often as I'm told people change their socks. But I don't wear socks, me."

"And Harry? Does he...um, change his socks much?"

Louis looks soft and confident, low-lidded, when he says, "More often I do. I'm sure you'll meet him one of these days."

Tom almost swallows his tongue. Which would be a shame, since he'd quite like to have a tongue if he ever does get the chance to meet Harry. He thinks he’s understanding this correctly.

He's more than a little distracted by their conversation, enough to almost completely forget he's wearing next to nothing. Louis is a bit shaggier than Tom would've expected, but he's still fit even though he's not the feather-haired pixie of their earlier years as a band.

He doesn't realize he's staring until Louis' eyes narrow slightly.

"It's fucking weird, isn't it?"

"What?" Tom asks, bewildered. His instinct is to make sure the robe hasn't fallen off.

"You look _exactly_ fucking like me."

Tom's eyes bug a bit. "Do I?" He smiles, glad that Louis Tomlinson is calling their resemblance weird, and not his bits. That would've been devastating.

"It's uncanny. You're sure you're actually you, and not just me from the past? Because I've always thought I was clever enough to invent time travel, so that would be sick."

"Er, I don't... think so," Tom says haltingly. "Isn't George supposed to be the time-travel one?"

"That's different; he's supposed to have got born out of Harry's arsehole or something. I don't get it. He doesn't even really look like Harry, but you really fucking look like me. It's a good thing. You're lucky."

"Thanks? I think." Tom's fiddling with the ends of the belt in his hands, just to give himself something to do. The way that Louis is looking at him, eyes dark even with the guise of banter, is a lot to take in. "I don't really see it, though. You've got much longer eyelashes. And my bum's got nothing on yours."

"Doesn't have to stay that way."

There's another pause, and then Louis says, "Did that work? I feel like you got the message, at least."

Tom grins, "Think I did, yeah." He fleetingly remembers that he was on his way rehearsal, but at this point is very much considering showing up late. When else is he going to get chatted up by Louis Tomlinson? "Should we...?"

It must say something about how totally out of his element he is that he's looking around trying to figure out exactly which corridor they're in right now, and exactly what the quickest route is to the Spooky Supply Closet of More Than Likely Handjobs.

"If you're up for it," Louis says lightly, as though he hadn't been the one to suggest it first. "I got a Snapchat from George last week though that you had a little boy band boyfriend; shall we find him?"

"I'd love to, but he's one of the only ones in rehearsal right now with a voice, and I don't think other Louis would appreciate me showing up to fetch him in this state of undress. Don't worry, we'll have plenty of fun when I tell him the details later."

Louis makes an appreciative noise at that. "Between you and me, I don't think Other Louis would much mind you showing up in that, but I understand there are some children in your band and maybe you shouldn't."

Oh, god. Tom can't even begin to think about Charlie seeing him like this without feeling queasy, and so he doesn't. He reaches out to lay a hand on Louis' bicep and tries not to let out a little groan when he feels the outline of muscles underneath his warm, golden skin. "How about we talk about what we should do instead?"

He knows that line bordered on corny, but Louis doesn't seem thrown off. Tom bites his lip--his signature move--in the hope that it will remind Louis why he suggested they do this in the first place.

Louis shakes his head, and then without any further adieu, wraps his fingers around Tom's wrist and starts to drag him down the corridor towards the bend that leads to the spooky hall where it was quiet and the noise from the stage above echoed like ghosts.

They're moving so quickly that the robe is fluttering. Tom's arse is definitely showing, but at least no one else comes down here.

Louis looks over his shoulder at Tom and this time, when he smiles, he doesn't look quite so... famous.

"This brings back memories. I used to spend a lot of time in this cupboard. That one really wasn't a pun, thankfully."

"I suppose I should've guessed you were one of the two from your band George said he joined in here." Tom smiles, much more softly than the occasion calls for, but something about Louis makes him feel like that's okay.

"Well, George is very persuasive." Louis sounds a little soft and fond himself. It's probably just something about George that turns otherwise-rational people into mushballs. "The first time, he claimed he needed a mop, but he already had his hair, so. That was probably a dirty lie."

Tom laughs, louder than he should have while sneaking around. "See, we're talking right now, and that's great." He takes a moment to gather himself, crowding into Louis' space and reveling in the firm press of their chests together. "But also, we could be kissing. That is a thing that we could do."

Louis' eyebrows shoot up. "Let's get somewhere more private first. I don't intend to stop at kissing, and there are a lot of cameras about."

Tom feels a sharp intake of breath that wasn't entirely voluntary, and he tries his best not to whine at all the ideas of what else Louis might want to do. "Right. Right, sorry, I...let's just. Here."

The air feels heavy around them, and Tom can't stop thinking about how plush Louis' lips are, how soft the skin of them is compared to the scruff on his cheeks. It's doing nothing but propelling him faster toward the closet.

It's dark inside, but not so dank as Tom had feared given that it's a supply cupboard. He isn't worried about backing into any noxious chemicals and dying with a dick in his mouth and toxic fumes in his nose, at any rate.

All things considered, if he were to die with a dick in his mouth, at least it would be Louis', and he's sure there are worse ways to go. Now, hidden away from view, Tom's honestly not sure where he wants to put his mouth first. There are so many options.

Louis makes the first choice easy. Their lips touch, and it isn't just a tentative first-timer kiss. Louis really goes for it, teeth and tongue and his callused hands on Tom's jaw.

Louis is all roughness between his calluses, the beginnings of his beard, the way he pushes himself into Tom's body with reckless abandon as soon as the threat of cameras disappears. He's everywhere, crowding up into Tom's space until all he can smell is Louis, Louis, Louis.

It's different, and not just because Louis is so famous. But that's part of it. The way he smells is different, the kinds of soap he can put on his skin and the fragrance he can spritz behind his jaw and the faint newness of his clothes and shoes.

He wonders if he'll get his chance, if someday he'll get to smell famous like that, get to choose this look of artfully disheveled in an outfit that likely cost more than a flat where he's from. He feels like a million pounds right now, with the way Louis' other hand is playing with the shoulder of the dressing gown. This is something he could get used to.

"Is this really yours?" Louis asks, his fingers slipping under the slippery green satin so that the robe begins to fall down Tom's chest. "It's nice, I'm just wondering."

"I'm working on it, actually. Hoping Chloe won't notice. I really," he sucks in a breath, distracted by the feeling of Louis' fingers running over the newly exposed skin, "really like the way it makes me feel."

A slow syrup smile spreads across Louis face, barely visible in the dark. Tom's pupils are huge, and it makes him feel a little vulnerable in a way that gives his skin all-over goosebumps.

"How does it make you feel, then?"

"Like I want to kiss you again."

Tom surges forward again, one hand on Louis' chest, feeling the skin there through the massive armholes and trying to parse if the skin of his tattoo feels any different. Mostly it all just feels hot, and it's a comfort to know Louis is feeling it too. His head tilts to the side, kissing him hard enough that their noses bump against each other a bit.

Louis' hands are so swift and smooth when he unties the front of Tom's robe that it takes a minute before Tom realizes that the shivery feeling down his back was the satin slipping down, hanging just from his elbows, his entire front and most of his back exposed.

Tom's hands are just as sure but definitely not as practiced when they reach for the button flies of Louis' jeans. He scrambles to undo the first few buttons, shoving his hand in, feeling the hard outline of his prick from the outside of his briefs. His breath is coming in pants.

Everything feels too urgent, almost like Louis is another judge and this is Tom's only chance for a live show. He's practically buzzing, cock so hard it aches a little where it nudges up against the wrist he's twisting into Louis' jeans.

"Hey," Louis murmurs, low. "Calm down."

"I don't know what it is about this robe," Tom says, his chest heaving. He feels too big for his skin and too small all at once.

"I don't either," Louis says, smothering a laugh by pressing his lips up against Tom's collarbone. "But take a deep breath. You're so wound up you won't even have time to enjoy it."

Tom opens his eyes, finally, looking down to meet Louis' hooded ones. He threads his fingers in the soft feathered hairs at the base of his neck, taking a moment to relax his shoulders. "You're right."  
He feels Louis smile against his skin. Louis' lips are glistening, red and hesitant as they break away from Tom's skin and press another, gentle though no less deliberate, to his neck. "Of course I am."

Louis keeps kissing Tom's neck and down his collarbone. Really, they're less kisses than long, hot smudges of Louis' lips and tongue, dragging their way down to the bare plain of Tom's chest that used to have a soft covering of pale hair, until the makeup crew decided to wax everyone clean.

Tom brings a hand to his face, his mouth hanging open as Louis' mouth moves across his hips. He feels a slow, teasing drag of teeth where the hair leading down to the waistband of his pants ought to be, and he shudders, his cock harder than he can ever remember it being. "Shit, oh my god."

Louis' face is _so close_.

The satin, where it's still hanging beside Tom's hipbone, ruffles when Louis laughs again into the top of Tom's thigh. Right at the crease where his skin is usually still pale. Can Louis taste the spray tan? Will it be all over his mouth like evidence?

"'S something funny down there?" Tom wants to sound indignant, but he's having a hard time feeling anything but overwhelming want.

"You just look so...delicate. Wanna pamper you a bit," Louis says, his voice deep, his tongue tracing the skin there as though he's got something else in mind. "Can you turn over for me?"

"Already?" Tom asks. The robe falls from his arms as he does turn, though, Louis' hands following along around his thighs. There's nowhere to go but to face the heavy door of the supply cupboard and try to find space on its smooth surface to hold on. "D'you carry slick around with you?"

"Yes," Louis says. "But that's not what I had in mind."

"What did you..." It takes a moment for him to realize what Louis means, although he's pretty sure there's not much he wouldn't want Louis to do given his current position. His hands feel sweaty as he tries to brace himself on the door. It's not until he feels Louis' fingers ghosting over his arse, digging in and pulling apart his cheeks that he figures it out, but, " _Oh._ Oh. Yeah, okay."

Tom never really thought that the first time he got rimmed would be in a supply cupboard under the stage at Fountain Studios while his boy band rehearsed for the X Factor, but he also never thought the first person to rim him would be one of the richest lads his age in the entire world. So there's that.

Louis's tongue operates very much like the rest of him, Tom finds. He supposes that being this sure of yourself comes with time, but he's also not entirely sure Louis wasn't born ready to meet the world head on. His tongue feels cool, and the moisture is not at all unpleasant even if it is odd to get used to. Louis licks a broad stripe from his balls all the way up past his hole, going back and forth a few times to let him get used to the sensation.

Tom appreciates the gesture, and he'd say so if he could make anything come out of his mouth besides an especially surprised moan.

Louis doesn't seem surprised. For once, he doesn't laugh. His hands are bigger like this, able to wrap around Tom's hips and move him just how he needs.

Tom's forehead hits the door with a quiet thunk when he can't even hold up his head anymore. He settles for resting his cheek against the cold metal of the door and letting his eyes drift shut to feel everything at once.

With his cheek pressed to the door, he can hear the faint rumble of voices on the other side, going about their rehearsal day as though Louis' face isn't slick with spit and Tom isn't whimpering at the rough feeling of hair rubbing against his cheeks.

A very familiar laugh explodes just outside the cupboard's door, and Tom's face flushes hot. Barclay was there that night--so, so there that night. He heard George mention this cupboard.

_He must know._

He didn't expect it would make him feel this much warmer inside, how absolutely filthy he feels trying to hide his pleasure when they're in such a public place. Between this and the silk, he's learning loads of new things about himself tonight.

Tom's lip is feeling very raw and bitten from his attempts at silence, but then he feels Louis' tongue press _inside_ all tight and hot and very wet, and it punches a groan out of him. Even if Barclay can't hear his desperate noises, he's going to know soon enough. It's almost comforting, knowing this won't be the last time he feels this way, the memory of the silk hanging off his shoulders still fresh in his mind.

God, he really can't return that to Chloe now. For one thing, it's in a heap on the floor of a supply cupboard, but for another -- 

Well. It'll come in handy. If they can just stay in the competition long enough, eventually the house will have empty rooms.

Between Louis' ministrations--the massaging of his arse cheeks and his quick tongue--and thoughts of Barclay's tongue doing what Louis' is right now, Tom is close. His hands feel like too much, and he tries to grab onto the door like he would sheets with no luck. He's not above begging, at this point. "God, I'm. Louis, please."

Louis breaks free for just long enough to say, "Yeah, alright," his voice husky and his breathing heavy. Tom feels him bury his face further as one of his hands sneaks around his hip to grab hold of his dick, moving it to spread the wetness leaking from the tip up and down.

It would be embarrassing how quickly Tom comes if he were with it enough to care. He's in too deep a haze, though, just trying to focus on staying upright as he shoots into Louis' hand.

He feels his knees buckle, and the muscles in his torso that the spray tan over accentuated are tensing, and he hasn't come this hard since--since that night.

"C'mere. Come up here, I need to. Fuck." He turns around and tugs Louis up by his shirt, feeling so dirty that Louis is almost completely still dressed. He can't bring himself to be mad, but he'd be blushing if his skin weren't flushed all over. "Let me just."

Louis pushes his own jeans and pants off just enough to get his cock out and start dragging his hand over it himself, before Tom gets his hand over top of Louis'. Their hands move in tandem, their foreheads pressed up against each other, until Louis pulls his away and lets Tom take over.

It's not like Tom thought that Louis' cock would be different somehow just because he's famous, but it's still nice to see that it's really just another cock -- and Tom knows what to do with those.

Louis doesn't press him for a kiss after that, and he's not sure he could even manage to kiss him back at this point, so focused on getting Louis off through his own post orgasm haze. It doesn't take much, just a few more rough strokes before Louis is coming over Tom's hand and striping his contoured stomach in pearlescent white.

Tom doesn't know where to put his hands. He doesn't know whether to step away. All he had to wear was that little robe, but -- that doesn't seem like it would mean all that much to put back on.

Louis must have experience with indecision, because he makes the first move, reaching out to place his hands on either side of Tom's neck, his thumbs gently rubbing Tom's cheeks, pressing lightly on the bone of his jaw.

"Y'alright?" he asks, and it's less mocking than it might be. "Still breathing? Know your name and all?"

"Barely," Tom replies, a laugh following short after. He wonders if Louis' crinkly eyed grin is contagious, because the sense of ease that comes along with it certainly is.

"That was. Wow. Thank you for that."

"It was my pleasure," Louis says, and he licks his lips. Tom is the one who laughs this time. Then Louis' tone turns to all-business. "Now. You have a responsibility now you've been initiated into the club."

"The club?"

"The spooky corridor boy band sex cupboard club!" Louis says, all impatience and clipped consonants. He frowns. "Needs a better name. We'll call it the Cobras. Anyway, your responsibility is to initiate another person. They have to be in a boy band off X Factor, and you have to do it in this cupboard. None of this 'greenroom sofa' business."

Tom rolls his eyes at Louis' enthusiasm, fondness creeping through his features. "I've got someone in mind."


End file.
